The Price of Failure
by Shiin
Summary: Two years after the events at the start of Season 7, Dean dreams about a fallen angel. He is finally forced to confront himself about his actions during the rise of the Leviathans, and to face the consequences of those actions.


Author's Note: I have not written anything at all in close to 8 years, my muse having left me some time ago. For some reason though I was up at 2am and couldn't sleep last night until I'd written down this... disturbing thought that had lodged itself in my mind. It started off as the inner monologue of Crowley, but that was quickly discarded for a 'two years later' short fic that hints at the consequences of certain inactions.

I can only apologise, I was in a dark place last night. I honestly am trying to be hopeful about this season, it was only really the latest episode that left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.

Summary: Two years after the events at the start of Season 7, Dean dreams about a fallen angel. He is finally forced to confront himself about his actions during the rise of the Leviathans, and to face the consequences of those actions.

Warnings: darkfic, bit of swearing, angst, past character death. Un-Beta'd.

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><p>Dean opened his eyes and immediately closed them again, fighting down a familiar wave of nausea as he silently willed his nightmare to pass. Breathing slow and deep, the phantom stench of sulphur burning in his nostrils, he forced his heart to slow its furious thumping to a more sedate rate, calmly denying the echo of cries reverberating in his ears. This was not real, he had been free of hell for years, he just needed to calm the fuck down, and when he opened his eyes he'd be in that seedy Elvis-themed motel, Sam snoring softly from across the room with its peeling King of Rock 'n' Roll wallpaper. Dean breathed in one more time and slowly exhaled before opening his eyes to meet another pair staring right back at him.<p>

"Hello Dean."

The ringing in his ears stopped, the smells falling away in a moment of vertigo. It felt like a punch in the gut. His mind flashed to the last time he'd seen those eyes, heard that voice. Had it really been two years? His eyes darted, mind still catching up to the sudden turn of events; he looked exactly the same, clothes slightly rumpled, tie askew, hair artfully tousled, a day's scruff shadowing his jaw. Dean remembered to breathe, though it did nothing to ease the tightness building in his chest. They were standing on an empty road, woodlands lining one side, a dilapidated house on the other. It was dark, but Castiel seemed to glow in the twilight. He wasn't wearing his trench coat or his jacket, and his white shirt sleeves were rolled up to mid forearm.

"Cas." It was a dream, had to be, but one of those real dreams, the angel dreams. "Cas, you're alive," two quick steps and he had grabbed the angel by the shoulders at arm's length, pausing once more to take in his appearance and check for any signs of anything untoward, hesitated - but when had anything other than an angel ever invaded his dreams? - then a quick tug and he was hugging him like a brother, clutching as though his life depended on it.

Cas's hands hesitated a moment before settling around Dean's lower back, his whole body leaning into the embrace, his hold tightening further as he pressed his face into Dean's shoulder with a soft sigh. As the warm breath heated the cloth covering his collarbone the tightness in Dean's chest loosened suddenly, bubbling up out of his throat in a quick burst of laughter before clenching down tight on his vocal cords, settling in the prickling behind his eyes.

They held each other that way a moment longer, then a quick squeeze and Dean was gently extricating himself from the embrace, his hands resting on Cas's shoulders as he slowly pushed him back far enough that he could see his face clearly. Cas's eyes were glassy with unshed tears, head tilted ever so slightly to the side, eyes tight and brow furrowed in what could be confusion, or grief, or maybe hope. For a moment he looked so very human that Dean's heart almost broke with it.

Clearing his throat in a bid to will his voice into a more acceptable range, Dean started.

"What the hell, man? We thought you were dead! The Laviathans, we thought-" the look on Cas' face interrupted him. He looked almost as angry as he had that time Dean had tried to say yes to Michael.

Confused, he moved to release his grip on Cas' shoulders, but the slighter man's own hands rose to grab his arms, keeping him in place. Dean jerked back, but Cas just followed pace for pace. Dean stumbled backwards as tarmac gave way to uncut grass and hard-packed earth, but still Cas followed, giving him an extra little push that had him slamming back into the very solid trunk of a tree rather than sprawling to the ground. In an instant, Cas was right up in his face, breathing hard around his clenched jaw. Dean's hands were still on Cas's shoulders, but now to keep him at a distance. Cas's own hands were caught in the crook of Dean's arms, one resting on his right forearm, the other against his trembling left biceps. For a moment they just stared into each other's eyes and Dean was struck with a crippling sense of shame that would have sent him to his knees were his body not being held up, trapped between rough bark and _him_. He still hadn't said a word beyond hello.

Two years, and he hadn't tried, hadn't looked, had just given up, too caught up in his precious hurt feelings - and he'd been alive this whole time? A hollow seemed to be opening in his chest and he went numb, unable to compute the torrent of emotion overwhelming him and instead shutting them out completely. Push it down, deal with it later. His left hand moved, almost of its own accord, across Cas' shoulder to the crook of his neck. Jaw still clenched, Cas's eyes slid closed and a single tear, dislodged by the movement, slipped quickly down his right cheek until it became trapped in the curve of Dean's thumb against his jaw. He backed off a few inches, head drooping, still silent with his eyes closed, perhaps clinging a bit more tightly to Dean's arms.

"I'm so sorry, Cas. I should've… what happened to you?"

For a moment there was silence - Cas seemed to be collecting himself, and Dean could do nothing but wait and watch. He didn't want to know, not really. He wished he could wake up.

Eventually Cas straightened, his eyes open and clear and devastatingly blue. He caught Dean's gaze, but quickly dropped it again. Clearly there was something incredibly fascinating about his hand on Dean's forearm. As he watched, a tongue briefly protruded to swipe over chapped lips.

"I wasn't just cut off this time, Dean. I Fell. I fell harder and further than even Anna did. I guess God was kinda angry." The last was said with a rueful smile and his eyes rose again to meet Dean's. The ball of nothing in his chest seemed to throb as he was assaulted with the image of Cas, alone and confused in the middle of nowhere trying to find his way back to Sam, Dean and Bobby. He'd probably been found comatose again, but by the time he'd come around all their old numbers wouldn't have worked, their IDs scrapped, their existence virtually untraceable in their bid to hide from the Leviathans. The ball shuddered again, tightened, but he didn't pay it any notice.

"But you made it. You got your mojo back, or you couldn't have found me. What happened?"

Cas's hand slipped down his forearm and past the hem of his sleeve. His hands were warm and dry against his skin where they curled around his wrist, his thumb smoothing the back of his hand still on Cas' shoulder.

"You still don't get it, do you?" his face was becoming more animated; for a moment he looked just like Jimmy Novak. Dean's mind reeled as the ball of nothing seemed to crack, confusion battling with- what? Dread? The hand on his left arm slid slowly up to his shoulder, and Dean was immediately hyper-aware of the hand print branded there.

He just wanted to wake up.

A self-deprecating grin suddenly split the angel's face; Dean was transported to the alternate 2014 and Cas, doped up on amphetamines, telling him about how he wasn't an angel any more. A cold fist clenched in the pit of his stomach and twisted cruelly, his body already knowing what his mind refused to comprehend.

"You bear my mark, Dean, from when I dragged you out of hell. Your soul is bound to me. Whatever happens, when you die, you're mine. And I Fell Dean, straight into the pit." He leaned forward, suppressing a giggle, and crooned into his ear. "I didn't get my mojo back, Dean: When you died, you came straight to me."

He drew back again, catching Dean's eyes once more. His grin broadened. He looked crazed.

The screaming in his ears started up again.


End file.
